Away with Me
by DyingStar
Summary: Beggars, drunkards, refugees. Pain, loss, death. An earless boy and a widow who falls in love again. A feeble tale, featuring George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Jerody Johnson. Oh and an odd guy named Mopsy.


**A/N:** I had been wanting to write a comedy since the summer, and since I already had this thought up and everything, I decided to go with this story. And I had fun writing it and coming up with the plot, among other things ;) So I hope you enjoy it as well. . .even though you may not get my sense of humor. At all.

**Disclaimer:** Characters: not mine. The rest: unfortunately, yes.

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**Away with Me  
**Chapter One: _The Beggar's Inn_

Clutching his bag of things with one hand and moving his soppy red hair out of his eyes with his other, George stared at the sign on the door.

_The Beggar's Inn._

Frowning, he whipped his head around, to look at his guide.

"You sure this is it?" he shouted through the pouring rain.

The young boy shrugged. "It's what it says on the paper. Here, take a look." He handed George a wadded piece of parchment. George opened it, swept his murky eyes over it once, then stuffed it in his pocket.

"Wonderful," said George to the boy, somewhat groggily. "Thank you. Here's your pay." He tossed the eager boy a Sickle. The boy bit it, then grinned.

"'Ey, thanks to you too, Mister." He then trudged off, unbendingly, in the god-awful weather. George stared at the young boy's retreating form for a moment before sighing and turning back to the extremely disgruntled _Beggar's Inn._ He knocked once, on the battered door, and instantly he heard a voice.

"Name," it said. The voice was hardly audible, and the rain made it all the more difficult for George to hear.

"Weasley," he answered, his face crumbling in discomfort. "Mind letting me in? It's a bit rough out here."

"Oh, complain _on_, will ya?" The voice said with obvious irritation. George frowned at it.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind," said the now curt voice. "Business?"

"Err. . ." George had to think a minute; he didn't know how to put it in the "right words". "I'm the new guardian. I was sent here to pro-"

"I know what a guardian is, you conniving git. I ain't no daft fool."

George was growing angrily impatient. "Fine. You know who I am and what I'm here of, so could you let me in now?"

"Not now, I can't. You have to tell me the password."

He nearly exploded. "_What bloody password?"_

The voice sighed. "The Beggar password that the founder's created to insure the safety of the residents of the _Beggar's Inn_."

"Now that's a mouthful," said George sympathetically.

"You're telling me." The voice sounded almost pleasant, then it dropped back into a cross hiss. "Password, give it to me now."

"I don't know it!"

"Well, I pity you then, 'cause now you're not getting in-"

"Wait!" George cried. Many people walking on the street outside of the inn, stopped and stared curiously at him. But George only glared at them before turning to speak to the door again. "Just gimme a hint."

"Umm. . .okay. It's something that we poor blokes say when things get rough."

"And that's all in one word?"

"I never said that."

George was perplexed. "Err. . .I have no money, no life, and I think my wife just left me."

"No, too many words. Cut it short a bit."

"Feed me?"

"Bring it out some more. . ."

"Please feed me?"

"Okay, I see now that you're not thinking, and I'll accept that, kid. I'm giving you another chance, and this time, I want you to _think_. . .like a beggar."

George stood there, staring at the door as raindrops continued to crush him. It was cold, he was wet, and he just lost about every ounce of humor he had left after months of battle. He was sick of the game the voice-behind-the-door was luring him in. It made no sense, at all. A password was one bleeding word, not a whole string of them!

"C'mon, kid," teased the voice. "Guess."

George sighed as he rolled his eyes exasperatingly.

"I'm broke, I'm useless, and I need a drink."

There was a swift silence before the laugher.

"You got it, kid! Didn't think you woulda, but somehow you did."

"Hoorah," said George sarcastically. "Mind opening up now?"

"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it. Sheesh. Young people today lack patience."

"Just open the damn bloody door."

"_And_ respect."

George heard a series of locks unlocking and a great object being pushed away, before the door finally creaked open. And then he came face-to-face with a dingy-blond, drunk somebody.

"Mopsy?"

"George, old boy!" exclaimed the man. "I thought I'd never see you again. . ." He opened his arms wide, then seeing the soggy state George was in, he stepped away. "Argh, you look an awful lot like hell, old boy."

"Care to move it, Mopsy?" George was not amused.

Oh right, right. Sorry. Here, let me get those for you." He reached out a hand to relieve George of his wet bag, then slowly withdrew it. "Uh, on second thought, you keep the wet up beg, eh?"

George stepped through the door, ignoring Mopsy's chattering. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"It's a slight rule of the house for the front hall to go unlighted. For security reasons, they say."

"And who are 'they'?"

"The founders." There was a hint of a pout in the older man's voice "_They_ have a say in _every_thing. But I was the one who thought up the name." And George could just see Mopsy puffing up with pride.

"Right. . ."

Mopsy laughed as he closed the door, leaving them in complete darkness. After that, there was a commotion of locking the locks and blocking the door with some heavy object. George thought it best not to ask.

"All right then," said the blond drunk. "Off we go. I'm to take you upstairs, I am. That's where you'll be staying. Come on now, hurry up."

George followed the sound of the drunkard's voice through what he knew was a hallway. It was so dark and quiet, and even though Mopsy was talking as loud as a mandrake's cry, George couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. Taking his wand out of his pocket, George waited a full second before saying"

"_Lumos!"_

What he saw-and heard-made his wand fall form his hand.

"Fool," said Mopsy above all the bloodcurdling wails. "Idiot! What have you done? Put that light _out_."

Too startled to move, George only stared around him. Mopsy had to pick up his wand and put out the light for him.

"_Nox_," Mopsy hissed, then took George's arm and led him away. But George had already seen, already knew, that before Mopsy had turned off the light, George had been staring at himself.

There was a door the end of the hall. Mopsy threw it open and pushed George through. He then closed the door behind them, leaning on it to block off the relentless cries.

"It's all right," he said suddenly. "All right. It's just the new guardian here. He didn't know."

Realizing too late that Mopsy was talking to someone behind him, George turned around...to see a room full of people, sitting at tables. They stared at Mopsy, stared at George, then finally went back to their own business. It was then that the screams behind the door ceased.

"You, boy." George looked at Mopsy. "Don't you ever do something like that again. There's a reason we don't light that hall."

"But you told me it was for security."

Mopsy shrugged as he stepped away from the door.

"I lied."

Shaking his head in amazement, he led George through the room. George soon saw that the room was a pub, a very popular one, and it was ridiculously big. As they neared the front, he could see a large stage that stretched from one wall to the other, as it strangely set off the pub's dank mood.

George looked at Mopsy questionably, and the alcohol-loving wizard laughed.

"It looks odd," Mopsy agreed, "but we've all gotten used to it. You see, one of the founders is an actress, and she just _had_ to have a stage in the pub. The other two didn't like it, but it turned out quite right in the end. It's what brings in the crowds on Fridays."

"Today's Friday," George informed politely.

Mopsy frowned. "Is it? Well, then you're in for a treat, old boy. I hear it's gonna be one helluva show."

He then led George through one of the side doors located at the bottom of one end of the stage, telling the redheaded wizard to stick close behind him.

"You won't believe how many riffraffs try to sneak in through this door, just to try to get a peak of _her_." Mopsy shook his head. "_Pa_thetic."

"Well, um," began George," it isn't locked, so can't anyone come in?"

"Let me fill you in on a little secret," Mopsy said, motioning for George to come closer. George obliged. "She put a charm on it so only I can open it." He began to swell.

"Damn right proud of yourself, aren't you?" George commented, stepping away.

"Now what gave you that idea, laddie?" the raggedy man asked innocently as he turned away from his fiery haired companion and disappeared behind a scarlet curtain. Naturally, George followed suit and found himself staring into the crystal blue eyes of someone familiar.

"Katie?" A grin was slowly appearing on his face. He stepped closer to her. "Katie."

Katie dropped the plate of cookies she had been holding.

"George, I-um. . .dammit," she swore, nervously stooping down to clean up her mess.

Sitting behind the counter island in the middle of the kitchen, Mopsy clucked. "Never in all my three years of staying here did I ever see her do that, lad. Me thinks you make her antsy." He grinned as he took a bite from a granny apple.

"And me thinks I told you those apples were for Jerody," Katie said as she picked up the shattered china and cookie pieces. Instinct kicked in and George bent down to help her.

"Well, Jerody don't like apples," Mopsy shot back matter-of-factly. "He prefers pears." He then crunched the apple some more.

Katie rolled her eyes, but since her back was to the wisecrack drunk, he could see. George did, though, and he smiled at her. Catching his smile, Katie blushed a bit.

"Thanks, George," she told him after they had cleaned up the mess. "Sorry, I guess it must've slipped."

Mopsy scoffed, and Katie ignored him.

"I-er-heard that our new guardian was arriving today, but I had no idea they were sending you."

"That's the way it goes, mostly. I had no idea _who_ I was guarding. . .until I saw you."

"Oh, um." Katie stumbled as she went to throw away the garbage. Mopsy tsked at her, and she shot him a heated glare before turning back to George. "You mean. . ." She trailed off, and George stared at her expectantly. She stared back, then shook her head. "Never mind."

She walked past him, to the cupboards, her face troubled.

"It's been awhile," she said as she opened a cupboard door and took out some flour.

George nodded thoughtfully. "Three years."

Katie seemed startled when he said that. She looked back at him. "Yep," she quipped. "Three years." She turned her face away again. "Funny how it seems so much longer."

"Oh, lassie, I know," Mopsy spoke up. "Three years seem like thirty when you spend 'em all in this place."

"Oh shut up, Mopsy," Katie scolded. "You love it here. We can't even get you to go out and buy some wine for Merlin's sake." She grabbed the sack of flour and brought it to the counter, parallel to Mopsy.

"Ah yes, _Beggar's Inn_, I shall never leave thee." Mopsy bowed his head in respect.

George laughed as he walked over to them both. "So this is where you've been staying this whole time?"

"Yeah," Katie murmured as she poured flour into a transparent bowl. "I even helped build it."

"Helped. . ."George stammered. "You built this place?"

Katie smiled up at him. "And you're surprised. Yes, Mr. Weasley, I helped build it. Out of my own sweat and blood, I did."

George was speechless. Katie, little Katie, helped build a place like this?

Mopsy was amused. "May I introduce you to one of the founders of the _Beggar's_ _Inn_? The beautiful and brilliant Katie-"

"Mopsy," she warned, glaring at him. Mopsy shrugged, fell silent, but was still smiling.

"So you built this?" George was truly impressed.

"With help," Katie added.

"With help," George repeated. "How? I mean. . ._when_ did you do it? How did you have the time?"

"When? Almost immediately when you all went away. The day after, I think. And how. . ." Katie smiled softly as she began to mix the contents in the bowl. "We had all the time in the world."

George could only shake his head. "Three years is an awfully long time," he lamented.

Katie ceased her stirring and met his awaiting gaze. "It's a hell of a long time."

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**A/N: **Before I forget, as I always do, the title of this story comes from the song by Norah Jones, _Come Away with Me_. It's a real pretty song. 


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